


Back to the Wall (Bear Traps to Bare Feet)

by themikeymonster



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: A bit pre-slash, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Demon!Matt, M/M, Monsters are Known, Mundanes Being Assholes, The Creature Fic No One Asked For, Vague and Threatening Government Agencies, Werewolf!Foggy, you bet they're gonna get service dog jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 14:41:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4395836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themikeymonster/pseuds/themikeymonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's not a lot of job opportunities in Hell's Kitchen, not when you can find a dozen different kin just walking down the block. Foggy's not exactly job hunting when he meets the blind daeva, but beggars couldn't be choosers, right? </p><p>(Who is he kidding, he totally chooses.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to the Wall (Bear Traps to Bare Feet)

**Author's Note:**

> warning that 'daeva' as used in this fic was a word appropriated to refer to the 'demon/half-demon' folk just as 'weres' get called 'skinshifters' collectively.

* * *

 

"Open wide," the doctor said, didn't wait for compliancy, and wrenched his jaw wide.

Foggy remembered he used to wrench back, curse or whine when they did this kind of stuff. Living in the city was different, though; they weren't satisfied with the occasional sign-in, the odd check-up if something weird happened. In the city - in the _slums_ , Hell's Kitchen - the process was required once a month. Foggy had gotten numb to it after the first couple of years, and now he just heaved a sigh, let them take their measurements, then worked his sore and aching jaw when they finally let him close it.

One time, he'd threatened to file assault charges. 'I could get a lawyer, you know,' he'd said.

'Even if you could,' they'd answered with tight little smiles, 'where would be the proof?'

And it wasn't even that, but that played a big part of it. It'd been three generations, but the laws still didn't reflect society. Foggy had wanted to do _something_ about it, to force society to crank forward, to shield him, to shield others like him that weren't goddamned criminals or the horrific monsters they got treated as.

"You know the drill, Nelson," the doctor said.

Foggy used to snap and bicker, then he used to say ' _yeah, I know_ ', but now he just shucked off his clothes and got it over with.

\--

His lip was still split the next time he came into the office. He was early, because it was better than being late, and today it was better than being on time. Foggy pressed his fingers gingerly against the sore and swollen part of his face, already cooler and less tender than it had been fifteen minutes ago.

There was a point to getting to the clinic directly on time: it shortened his stay, for one, and for another he didn't have to look around at all the other sad-sacks that had to show up for _their_ appointments. Early in his arrival at Hell's Kitchen, he'd tried being friendly with the rest of the kin, but - yeah. Country-bumpkin right there. Foggy had never known how good he'd had it before he came here, and now no one let him forget.

A glance around only proved what he'd already heard and suspected - the clinic was packed. He supposed everyone had shown up like _he_ had, quickly, both hating it but eager to fall under the paper-thin protection of the Agency. Sometimes the kin didn't like each other as much as they could, but when faced against the Agency - well. They were kin.

"Alright," Foggy said, dragging himself over to the one of the only open chairs in the entire lobby. "This seat taken?"

The kin startled slightly, his head coming up and around with a sort of artless surprise. "Oh," he said, "no, sorry - here." He shifted slightly in his seat, straightening both his legs and the long white cane as though those had been why Foggy hadn't just thrown himself down in the chair. Neither had really been in the way, but you wouldn't know it from the small bubble of isolating space around the guy.

"Thanks." He settled in and ignored the way the guy shifted again, giving yet more room, pulling back from where their thighs were touching. "Sorry," he added, glancing about the room.

"No," the guy said guilelessly, his head tilting again. Foggy had the distinct impression that the guy was listening to him, but he didn't let it bother him, licking his lip to make sure it wasn't bleeding anymore. Hopefully it would finish healing before he had to go in. "Fighting?" The guy asked.

For a second, Foggy was going to say something spiteful and mean, because he was in pain and so: _obviously;_ instead, he took a second look at the kin, then drew in a deep breath. It was fairly faint - the hot, acrid smell of molten rock, vaguely noxious, not the kind of thing that Foggy normally picked up during everyday life, but there wasn't even six inches of space between them in the cramped room. "Yeah," he admitted, because what was the point of lying? "What gave it away? My guess is anger, or something like that - anger counts, right? Wait, is fighting inherently sinful? Because that's a bit harsh."

The daeva's brows bunched, then smoothed. "Um," he said, turning his face away. "It's not that." His mouth twisted uncertainly. "You're still breathing a little heavy. You smell like sweat, and a bit of the alley. Could be nervous." He shrugged. "But you sounded resigned, not nervous, when you spoke."

For some reason, that hit his funny bone, and a laugh bubbled up his throat and broke out: a little gasped wheeze where his aching ribs strained in protest. A _daeva_ ferreting out a fight in the back alley like he was some common skinshifter. "Sorry," he said, "that's a bit amazing. My bad, I shouldn't have -" Shouldn't have presumed a daeva was perving on his sins or something like that; was that like asking a skinshifter if they had fleas? Asking where their collar was? The guy didn't seem insulted, but he was the first daeva that Foggy had actually met, so - "Yeah, it was a fight. Not my choice, of course: I'm a lover, not a fighter, but -" His ribs strained on his next breath, and he fought to catch it for a moment.

"Other kin?" The guy asked, head tilted. Like he was listening again, almost wolvin in his manner. Hell, maybe he was listening, or maybe it was just him trying to block out the others in the room.

It had been, but that was his own business, so Foggy just made a noncommittal sound. He was a little fish in a bit ol' shark pool. Hell's Kitchen was worst than Sea World, honestly. He thought he could smell brine, but that could be any number of the kin in the room; salty and a bit wet, a bit dark and bitter at the back of his throat, and the bite of something insidiously odorless and toxic.

He licked his lip. It was a bit warm, still a bit soft. Breezily, he said "I have an hour or so before I'm due, so at least I'll probably manage to dodge any kind of paperwork or reports."

"You think it'll help?" The daeva asked, still listening even as he turned his head away, sightless eyes roving. Foggy could tell he was still _listening_ , like you knew when both you and the person beside you were watching the same thing. Maybe Foggy could tell better than others, he wouldn't know, he had always been _this_.

"Anything that keeps me off the Agency's radars helps." He said dryly, and the daeva smiled thin and sharp and agreed: "yes."

\--

Foggy really wasn't a fighter, but it didn't mean he wasn't good at it. He came from a rather large family, and in every large family, there was a lot of rough housing. There had been plenty of room, and so there'd been a dozen kids, including him - well, eleven, but that was practically a dozen, right?

What put him at the higher end of the pecking order back home put him on the lower end here, not brutal enough to gain respect, so he did it the old fashion way, pressing a bag full of pricy cigars he'd shoved a few thugs around in payment for into Brett's hands.

"Get out of my face, Nelson," Brett told him, shoving him back. Foggy went easily, stumbling slightly in exaggeration (wounded gazelle ploy, right?). "You know you don't have to bribe my mom, man. Especially not with these, I don't care if she can't get cancer, the smell alone -"

"Yeah, yeah, cry me a river," Foggy said with a sleazy grin. "Sucks to live in the inner sanctum, huh? I'll be asking later, of course, if she liked them on the next moon."

"As if she wouldn't smell them on me after you rubbed them all over my shirt," Brett snapped.

"Well, that just sounds diabolical," Foggy said, wrinkling his nose and leaning back. With a 'butter wouldn't melt' face, he asked, "do I look diabolical to you, Brett? I don't really _feel_ diabolical -"

"Shut up, you're just reminding me how much I hate you and _why_. Just keep your damned head down, Nelson. It'd be a better bribe. We don't need your kind of trouble around here."

"My kind of trouble? What kind of trouble is that," he scoffed, lies and appeasements, because he was out of his league and skating by on favors as it was. No point in stirring the pot if he could avoid it. "Look, I'm taking the small jobs and keeping my head down."

As much as he didn't want to. The way kin worked in the cities was - different, than back home. Where you could do what was right, and many even the mundanes would understand and let it pass. He was a lover, not a fighter, but all skinshifters acted the same when they were put in a corner, and -

And Foggy Nelson felt a bit like he had two walls pressing against his spine. He'd been feeling them for years, and something like steel teeth at his ankles, making his jaw ache with the need to chew.

"No trouble," Brett said sternly, putting his finger to Foggy's shoulder so that it hurt. It wouldn't even bruise, not even for a second, so that was pretty mild, actually - just making a point. In the cities, a real disciplining left a guy limping, even if he'd be walking fine in a week. "We don't need the Agency breathing down our necks."

"Hey, I don't want that either," he said. God, no one wanted that; just the thought of it settled cold dread into his gut. It must sound honest enough, because Brett let it go.

"Let's keep it that way," he said, grim.

\--

The next month, Foggy showed up an hour early for his appointment. The room was packed again, and again, there was the daeva sitting still, that little bubble of space around him where the others wouldn't sit that Foggy had ignored last time because he'd been hurt and distracted. The daeva sat politely, not overspilling his single, rickety plastic chair, not taking up any extra space, but the two seats on either side of him were empty even though some kin were standing.

Well. It had been fine last time, so Foggy didn't over think it. He ambled on over with a pleasant expression, even if the daeva couldn't see it, and asked, "this seat taken?"

The daeva's brow arched, but he doesn't seem surprised -- well, not _that_ surprised, more like when Foggy'd go out and make a visit to his Uncle without calling ahead. "Not at all," he said, and as before rearranged his legs and cane. "Chased inside by common criminals again?"

"Not today, but I was in the area and due anyway, figured I might as well drag myself in." He thought maybe he could lick the corner of his mouth and still taste the sugar from the baked-something-or-other he'd gotten from the shop a few blocks down. It was impossible, since he'd taken a wet-wipe to his face (it smelled like aloe) and he'd chewed a piece of spearmint gum, but -

"Well, good, maybe they learned their lesson." He grinned, not exactly honest, but not exactly not. It was unlikely that the kin _had_ learned their lesson, as Foggy had run with his tail between his legs, but. "Are you new in town?" He cocked his head. "I haven't noticed you, but this makes twice that we've met."

Foggy snorted, waving it away. "Not new, really, but you and I, we travel in different circles."

"Oh?"

There was a world of challenge but also curiosity in that tone. Foggy couldn't really believe he was hearing it. "Please. You're daeva - you get a very different clientele than us skinshifters. Anyway, I could be here for another ten years, and I'll still be an outsider to the packs, so it's mostly what freelance work comes my way."

"Like playing bloodhound?" The daeva guessed with a mean little curl at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh yeah," Foggy agreed, his smile a touch sharp. "And you're a palm-reader, right?"

He was just meaning to be an asshole, but the daeva unexpectedly laughed; threw his head back and everything and half of Foggy went _holy hell, teeth_ and the other half went _holy hell,_ _neck_. That was the danger of daeva; that danger and temptation, the capacity to be just exactly what a person needed to be led astray. That was what Foggy had been feeling all that time, and the faint, noxious smell of molten rock. Not that the guy could be blamed for it; that was simply nature.

"Lawyer," the daeva corrected, mouth wide and white and mirthful. "No joke. Although sometimes I do more detective work than I should, for a blind man."

Foggy made a noise, and a less kind man would have called it a 'whine', perhaps, even though it hadn't been. "I wanted to be a lawyer. Wasn't a lot of use for it, though, where I came from. I got to be a butcher, instead. Keen nose and all, you know? I got typecast, it was a damned shame." He paused for a second, wondered what he'd be doing if he actually were a lawyer. Maybe he'd be working with lots of daeva, they liked the lawyer career, liked being police officers; they were hard to outsmart, a lot of the time. Maybe he'd be facing off against _this_ daeva, and they'd come to some sort of agreement in a private plea office. Maybe Foggy should stop thinking that way about someone whose name he didn't even know.

"Are you still a butcher?" He asked, head tilted in that way that made Foggy think that he might abandon the packs and try starting his own heretical one. This guy would certainly fit right in, he thought.

"No! No, absolutely not, I've had more than my share of meat, I am so sick of meat, I am - that sounds vaguely dirty." Foggy paused to consider that, but the daeva just giggled - really, giggled was the only way to describe it - so he didn't let it bother him overly much. "Mostly it's just petty stuff, you know. Courier work, or finding this or that lost thing." He shrugged. "Sometimes more violent stuff. As impressive as I am on two feet, I'm a _real_ beast on four."

The daeva ducked his head with a smirk. "That might be worse than the meat comment." And maybe, but Foggy heard too many crude jokes about it to be anything more than _tired_ to hear it now, and apparently the daeva could somehow sense it because he sobered. Straightening, he switched the folded cane over to one hand and held out the other. "Matt Murdock," he said with a mouth more teeth than smile. "I've got a business proposition for you."

Foggy laughed in his face. He was almost immediately horrified, but the daeva - _Matt_ , apparently - was laughing along with him, so _yeah_ , that was apparently a self-aware joke, and Foggy had to laugh his relief off. "I'm sorry," he wheezed, "but are you serious? A deal with the devil?"

They were getting dirty looks - for talking about _it_ , for being loud, maybe for the fact that they were leaning against each other, breathless and grinning. Rocking back and forth unsteadily between their two chairs, bent toward one another in a sudden conspiracy of bad jokes and generally terrible humor.

Matt was too close when he turned and grinned at him, delight and fangs, his fingers too strong as they dug into Foggy's arm. "I'm serious. How about it?" His breath was hot and sulfurous against Foggy's ear - not actually, Matt only smelled faintly of hellfire, and salty like brine, but - "I could use some help when I go poking around."

 _Where he shouldn't be_ went unsaid, and Foggy didn't really know Matt well enough to know if that was okay, if it was the _good_ kind or the _bad_ kind of where he shouldn't be. All the benefits of being daeva in the world couldn't completely make up for the fact that his blood had stolen his eyesight. And Foggy - well. Foggy's back was against the wall. "My friends call me Foggy," he said, because apparently good and bad didn't matter anymore.

He took Matt's hand.


End file.
